


To Regulus Black, Liquid Courage, From Godric Gryffindor

by generalzero



Series: Help Will Always Be Given [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, Hogwarts House Sorting, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Obsessive sorting cultures is divisive my dudes, Regret, Sad Ending, War, everyone has a bit of all the houses in them, inspired by the bullshit sword of gryffindor out of sorting hat business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29031768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/generalzero/pseuds/generalzero
Summary: Sometimes Godric wonders if Regulus Black ought to have been in Gryffindor too.(or)The four Founders of Hogwarts were by no means the greatest or most powerful wixen ever known, but on Hogwarts grounds and over Hogwarts students, their influence was sacrosanct. Whether through the magic of the Sorting Hat and the castle itself, or some other cunning and mysterious means of reaching through time, help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.
Series: Help Will Always Be Given [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/979713
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	To Regulus Black, Liquid Courage, From Godric Gryffindor

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by:
> 
> 1) my frustration with obsessive sorting culture in fandom  
> 2) Rowling's generally lazy exploitation of the sorting mechanic in canon  
> 3) the thing where only a true gryffindor can pull godric's sword out of the sorting hat i lowkey detest this
> 
> Warnings: implied/mentioned suicide. heed the tags.
> 
> Edits 01/29/21 for flow

Sometimes Godric wonders if he should have taken both of them.

  
If anything, Godric could have done it purely for the sake of riling up Salazar. Losing the elder heir of the Noble House of Black had driven Salazar into a fit of temper Godric hadn’t seen in a century; Salazar’s reaction to losing the younger brother a year after would have been spectacular.

Rowena and Helga, of course, disapprove of this centuries-old game Godric and Salazar play, snatching each other’s best potential house members. “The Sorting is not one of your chess matches,” Rowena says sharply, and Helga hisses that children are not pawns. They’re right. But Godric is both proud and petty, and so is Salazar, and the two of them can no longer hack at each other with swords to blow off steam. “It’s not as if we just choose them at random,” Salazar maintains. “I’m merely rescuing the talented ones who would be wasted on Godric.” And Godric agrees. The students he steals from Salazar each have kernels of boldness and bravery that Salazar rarely bothers to encourage.

Like Regulus Black, who shivers slightly at the bracing wind slicing across the top of the Astronomy Tower as he stands leaning against the wall of the overlook. In his pocket is a painstakingly crafted forgery of Tom Riddle’s latest horcrux, along with a folded note Godric watched him write and hide inside just moments ago. The boy graduated over a year ago, but it isn’t hard to tell why Regulus came all the way to Hogwarts to write the note. Over the centuries there have been many young people—too many—who came to the top of the Astronomy Tower at night to write notes nobody would read until after they were dead. That Regulus does not intend to throw himself off the overlook doesn’t change the way his eyes rove the Hogwarts grounds as if trying to memorize every detail. Godric was a warrior, a general. He’s seen that same grim desperation in countless faces before—lovers parting before a battle, mothers sending off their sons to learn how to kill, fathers kissing the foreheads of toddlers who won’t recognize them when they finally return home, if at all.

There is no one here with Regulus Black now. There was no one to return that look and promise to remember him, except Godric.

The masonry next to Regulus shifts imperceptibly, and a stone tumbler appears at his elbow. A shot of liquid courage—the old-fashioned kind, not an actual mood potion. The liquor in the tumbler isn’t magical at all; it isn’t even good liquor. It’s the exact piss-poor ale Godric himself slugged a thousand years ago the night before his first real battle, the one that changed him from boy to man. It’s as close to an apology as he can get. If Godric had taken Regulus along with his brother, or left them both in Slytherin, then Regulus Black likely would not be standing here, alone, rubbing absently at the dark mark under his left sleeve and contemplating redemption.

Eventually Regulus glances away from the star-lit view long enough to notice the tumbler. He raises an eyebrow at it, and frowns at the image of Godric’s crest engraved into the side. He stops rubbing his forearm.

Sometimes—like right now, as Regulus Black takes the tumbler, slugs it back without even checking for poison, and then walks away to his death—sometimes, Godric is keenly aware that he is a petty old man who plays chess with children’s lives because he can no longer swing a sword and command armies.


End file.
